


Dancing with Mummies

by Mauisse_Flowers



Series: Living with Monsters [2]
Category: Night at the Museum (Movies), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Mummies, Night At the Museum 3 Never Happened, Post-Night at the Museum 2: Battle of the Smithsonian, Self-Insert, Werewolves, blaming amusewithaview, lots of vampire politics in america, lots of werewolf politics in america, vampires and werewolves are on friendly terms in america
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-06-28 04:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15700239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mauisse_Flowers/pseuds/Mauisse_Flowers
Summary: Becoming a curator wasn't her first option in life, but neither was, apparently, becoming a werewolf's Mate. At least Hannah was getting some help for both.





	1. I'll Spread My Wings (I'll Do What It Takes 'Till I Touch the Sky)

**Author's Note:**

> So this was gonna be a hella long one-shot but then I realized it was gonna be a [hella](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-3vPxKdj6o) long one-shot. Should be 4-to-5 chapters only.

Hannah sets down the last box, huffing at the strain of having hauled 15 boxes, big and small, into her new apartment. The movers had brought in everything else, including the other half of her boxed shit. If she was honest, half her boxes were books. She’d tossed all the clothes that either didn’t fit or she hadn’t worn in at least a year before the movers came two days before, leaving the rest in her chest of drawers. Maybe two boxes had the rest of her clothes, mostly of which were long sleeve shirts and a couple heavy coats for when winter hit.

On the mantle of her useless fireplace (she lived on the third floor of a ten floor apartment building, _in New York City_ , why was there a fake-ass fireplace?) sat her iPad, turned sideways and Skype on to show her old roommates of nearly three years– her Dungeon Master Amber, drinking buddy Annie, and Lesser of Two Fuckbois Ben- waiting to find out whether this move was a bust or not. She’d set up WiFi before she’d even got in, Ben in his terrible Big Brother mode texting her to see if she was okay, and even Amber had pestered her which the woman never did.

“I think,” and she’s reaching for her inhaler, wheezing a little too much to be safe, “the move went well!” She takes a few puffs after half-heartedly shaking the little container. God, it only served as a reminder she’d have to set up a new doctor, dentist, and _therapist._

She could drop therapy all-together but–

“I should have come with.” Annie hums, not seeing much but seeing enough. “It’s ugly.”

“Excuse you. It’s _quaint_.” Hannah gasps. “And better than the place you and Aynaan found!”

“Don’t bring my husband into this.” Annie scolds. “I could have gone looking with you, but nope.”

“Little Miss Independent.” Ben huffs out, already losing interest after verifying she was safe and sound, tapping away at his phone and probably aiming to pick up another cougar for a night of fun. “I mean, Brendon could have done the walk through of the apartments since he’s stationed up there, but again. Nope. Did it fully over phone. Like a _dumbass_.”

“I put a bottle of Moscato in one of the boxes.” Amber says instead of nagging on Hannah’s inability to take offered help without loudly bitching and moaning. They both suffered from it. “That sweet one we tried at the Green Valley Grill way back.”

“Omg,” and yes, she said the letters, because some people are that big a nerd, “the one that tastes like apple cider?”

“And you drank literally half my fucking glass when you were twenty, and driving me home?” Amber leads on. “Yeah, that one.”

“Thank you.” Hannah gushes. “I’ll need it after the hell that is unpacking _and_ meeting everyone at the museum this evening.”

“I hope you don’t expect to get all unpacked in a day.”

“Oh, god no. I’m just getting the important stuff out today.”

Ben had wandered off but shouted from off screen, “ _Bedroom and bathroom first, then your weird tea addiction!_ ”

“It’s not weird!” Hannah cries, making to grab her iPad. “Anyway, I need to play music and get started.”

“Booo,” Amber cries.

“Nooo, don’t leave us!” Annie begged.

“You’ll just hear my singing and cussing when I stub a toe.”

“Still fun!”

Hannah rolls her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later. I also need to contact The Girls and let them know about my successful arrival.”

“Fine,” Annie scowls playfully, “bye.”

“Bye.”

She blows a kiss at the screen and ends the Skype call. She opens on her music app, entering her Work Playlist and hitting _Run_ by Delta Rae, and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. She had until five to unpack a good bit of her apartment and then get ready for meeting her new employees. Being the curator of a museum had her in a nervous wreck, but Mr. McPhee had promised to show her the ropes before properly retiring it all to her. She also wouldn’t be alone in keeping everything running smoothly, apparently the night guards were also great at their job.

Over the course of the day, Hannah calls the Girls—her friends Stacey, Bailey, and Noemi—, unpacks and sets up her bedroom, yells at her TV as she tries to set it up, gives up to put her kitchen in order, and calls the landlord to save her ineptitude with her TV. After that, Hannah sets up her PS4, DVD player, and VHS, makes a hot cup of For the Wise _Harry Potter_ tea—bless Anna for introducing her to Adagio years ago—and relaxes until five. Her home isn’t really ready even halfway, needing to unpack her books, DVDs, and VHS tapes, as well as go grocery shopping, and string up her fairy lights and draw various glyphs, but Hannah could live a night without a home cooked meal or house charms.

She takes a quick shower, blow dries her hair until it’s only slightly damp, does the least amount makeup that left her still looking professional with her red lipstick, and dresses in her nicest pair of black slacks and dusty purple top with her favorite brown sweater. As she fixes herself a travel mug of Der Erlkonig from her _Labyrinth_ tea set also obtained from Adagio, she checks the time on her phone to make sure she’s on track. She lives a block or so from the museum and doesn’t mind the walk. After fixing her tea to her specifics and checking for her new pepper spray and the taser her brother had bought her, she leaves her messy apartment, locking up tight behind her.

Hannah gets to the museum in barely fifteen minutes. She stops to look up the steps, aware she still had twenty minutes to get inside. Her anxiety wouldn’t let her get there any later just to be safe.

“Hi.”

Hannah yelps, nearly tosses her tea, and the woman who spoke, appearing to be maybe a teenager, looks equally startled and more than a dash of embarrassed.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” She grins at Hannah, holds out a darkly tanned hand with fluorescent yellow polish on the end of her nails. “I’m Tabitha.”

Hannah shakes her hand, assuming this must be a test Mr. McPhee had made. “I’m Hannahlee. Here for the museum?”

Tabitha continues to grin, eyes occasionally darting to the side just above Hannah’s shoulder. “Nope. Came to see you.”

Her brow crinkles. “Uhh? Have we met before?”

“No. I always greet the newcomers.”

Hannah’s face lights up. “Oh! You point people inside!” Hannah motions to the museum. “I’m the new curator! McPhee is personally training me.”

Tabitha finally frowns. Hannah notices that the woman is dressed in a short, bright pink skirt with a rainbow petticoat, a baggy off-the-shoulder tee splattered with paint, and dirty high-top converse that might have been green once. Her hair, a shiny black with the ends dipped in firetruck red, is pulled up on her head to make a high ponytail. Hannah didn’t expect a door greeter to be dressed like this. It’s also funny she hadn’t realized the woman’s state of dress with it being so colorful.

“Are you new to this?”

“Well, yes. This is my first day.”

“No, Puppy,” Tabitha says, voice getting softer, more personal. “New to being a werewolf.”

Hannah guffaws, then covers in mouth at how rude that was. “I think I’d know if I was a werewolf. I’d have changed by now.”

Tabitha’s brows crinkle. She steps into Hannah’s space, sniffing. Hannah just as quickly steps back. Realization dawns on the younger woman’s face a moment later, exclaiming. “You’re not a Puppy! You were Marked!” She lets out a heavy breath, looking wounded. “Oh, that’s _strong_. And it’s been a while.” Her voice drops again to keep it between them as she asks in a delicate voice, “Did he _leave_ you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Hannah demands, already moving to head inside, mind for some reason bringing up Lucien but quickly burying it. She was told New York had crazies but _holy shit_. “Never mind. I don’t have time for this.”

“B-but wait!” Tabitha follows. “Others will come! You smell like a Corvinus! We’ve not had one here in ages and they’ll definitely come after you.”

Hannah spins to glare at Tabitha, watching the younger woman screech to a halt, eyes big and worried. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about! Werewolves aren’t real! And even if they were, I’d not let one near me! They’re wild, rabid creatures.”

Tabitha makes a pained noise, sounding vaguely like “oh no.”

Hannah doesn’t stick around, marching inside to get away from Tabitha, if it was even her name.

Inside, Hannah takes a moment to compose herself with a sip of black tea mixed with peppermint, blue cornflowers and orange peels before she heads to the central desk, smiling at the woman there. Hannah explains to the woman, a receptionist and college student, that she’s the new curator, there to see Mr. McPhee, and is directed to the office.

“Thanks!” Her eyes look to the nameplate, reading the name Samantha Manson. “Ms. Manson.”

Samantha rolls her eyes. “Please, just call me Sam. Only the kids and teachers call me ‘Ms. Manson’.”

“Still a pleasure to meet you, Sam.” Hannah grins, turns and heads for the office, sipping her tea. The two spoons of honey and second’s count of cream helped bring out the vanilla, strawberries, raspberries, and assorted forest berries, reminding her of Triberg nestled on a mount in the fairytale Black Forest with it’s greedy squirrels.

Her entire soul already ached with the need to return to Germany, to get a job at a bakery or similar, and buy a small home in the countryside with an apple tree and goats and chickens. And she couldn’t dwell on the dream like she used to because a) she was at work and b) only the rich got such a luxury. Most of her paycheck was definitely going to paying for rent and groceries and debating on returning to college for that masters in English, abandoned by the need to settle.

She’s knocking on the closed door with a little plaque beside it that said _Lead Curator_ , below it in gold filigree _Professor Fergus McPhee, Ph.D._ A small flush of embarrassment spreads from her cheeks to her ears and down her neck, having barely gotten her associates in art after five years and a gap year. This job opportunity had been unceremoniously dumped in her lap by her sister, and she’d gotten it from sheer dumb luck, likely by the skin of her teeth too.

“Come in!” A high, British-ish voice calls, and she turns the knob, pushing the door open.

Mr. McPhee sits at his desk, going over paperwork and files, looking at shipping documents and similar items. He glances up at her, motions to the seat, and she goes to sit after closing the door. Her purse drops off her shoulder and she kicks it under her seat, not going to need it for the rest of the night likely.

“Let me finish these and then I’ll show you around. It has been a couple months.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, I’m giving this place to you. It’s Fergus.”

Hannah hides her wince by drinking her tea. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, you’re still my superior and teaching me everything I need to know.”

Mr. Phee grumbles something about ‘already knowing the history’ and ‘a nerd with sense.’ Hannah snorts into her cup and he glances at her, raising an eyebrow in quiet inquiry.

“I’m sorry.” She schools her face into a bland smile. “Before I came in, my friend Noemi had texted me a funny cat video. It was to help ease my nervousness.”

It wasn’t a _lie_ , per se. On her way, Noemi _had_ sent a cat video. A ‘good luck’ for her first day. Which, with how busy the woman was on the other side of the country as a nurse and renovating her family’s house, was a bright spot. They didn’t talk as often as they did two years ago.

“Everyone needs a bit of funny in their life, don’t they?” He asks, clearly rhetorically, and she lets him ramble in that scathing-but-meant-to-be-nice way of his that tended to make everyone else back up. “Cat videos, vines, skateboarding while eating raw cinnamon. Oh ho ho. Gotta live somehow.”

For people who know where to look, it easy to tell he’s not being an asshole because his eyes don’t roll. They drop back to the papers instead, mouth pursing. Left to herself, Hannah looks down, curving both her palms around the metallic container, sleek black cover imprinted with a white double- circle, with the circle a thin, masked, horned figure holding a knife in one hand and flaming torch in the other, _Cordati, Cauti, Auspicati_ above it’s head—a crown above the _u_ of _Cauti_ —between the circles and _Elsewhere University_ underneath the horned figure. She’s spent four years looking at the Tall One on the travel mug, picking out new favorite bits of the art and the way the black gleams green in the right light, and does so now as she waits.

It’s easier than thinking about the ache in her shoulder, the ache in her soul, or the strange teen she’d met outside. Tabitha had been weird, and had honestly scared Hannah. Thinking back, she had reminded Hannah of how worried and over-protective Ben had been the first few days Hannah had been back from Europe, helping her pack up her things and dismantle her bed and find a mover truck. Even his friend, Brendon, had been testy when people talked to her, softer in a way she wasn't used to when he'd been a huge asshole to her before Europe.

“Well,” Mr. McPhee groups the papers, pats them down so they were a neat stack, and sets them aside, “let's go through the exhibits again.”

Hannah stands, thoughts scrambling to reorganize into a work-only mindset, an issue from being out of practice and it being a long time since she’d had to actually stay strictly work-minded.

“Thank you,” she tells him as they exit his office that would soon become hers.

“Whatever for?” He demands. “It’s your job to know this place better than even the night guards. You’re new, too, so I _have_ to show you around.”

“It still means a lot. My last few jobs weren’t as thorough.”

He sniffs haughtily, checking his watch as they head toward the Bernard Family Hall of North American Animals. “American minimum wage jobs are like that.”

“No kidding.” Hannah mutters, curling over her tea just an ounce protectively. “It’s a nightmare to find a good place on minimum wage.”

“Luckily for you, you don’t survive on minimum wage anymore. Wouldn’t be able to in New York.”

Mr. McPhee proceeds to show her through every exhibit, explaining each area and amused at her own excitement and occasional factual additions, particularly fond over her mentioning early hominid society and their care of the sick and elderly and her babble over the recent discovery that Easter Island Heads had an entire body to go with their stern visage. They pass by the Tomb of Ahkmenrah on the way to the second floor and Hannah pauses, looking starry eyed at the Egyptian hieroglyphs and the giant Anubis figures, completely overlooking the mummy in the back with his golden tablet.

“Fond of Egypt?”

Hannah snaps to attention, hands tightening on the mug of tea, embarrassed. “Yeah. It was one of the last places my Dad visited while in the Navy and his stories… they stuck with me. And the entire mythos too.” _Along with ‘The Mummy’ and ‘Prince of Egypt’._ She was, for all intents, a passing nerd about Egypt. But all the same she loved it.

“Well then you’ll certainly love hearing our resident mummy speak when he arrives later.”

Hannah’s eyes light up. It had completely slipped her mind about how the entire museum had renovated itself a few years back and now, on weekends, used freelance actors and donated robotics to help bring in the funds to keep the place running. While she had applied to the position of curator as partially a dare and partially on accident—having assumed she was applying to the museum back home—she was glad to have gotten the job and chance to put her large batch of randomly specific knowledge to use.

Like ‘beer’ in hieroglyph.

Hannah can’t reign in her responding grin at Mr. McPhee. “Yes, I will.”

“It’s almost unnerving how accurate a lot of his information is, and he usually has answers on the spot for a lot of the smaller children.” Mr. McPhee shows her out of the area and heads down the hall for the elevator, talking all the while. He hits the button, turning to her as they wait. “Our head nightguard, Larry Dally, claims to have been a friend of Amon’s father, and he was a Egyptian archivist.”

Hannah hums, listening to her mentor explain the other popular people there, like Teddy who played the 26th President who shared his name and Alan who made a very convincing Atilla the Hun, when the sound of the intercom crackles to life. There is a brief throat clearing and then Sam speaks,

“ _The Museum of Natural History will now be closing in fifteen minutes to set up for ‘Night at the Museum’. Please find the nearest exit at your earliest convenience and we hope to see you tonight!_ ”

“We’ve thought of doing it during the day, for parents with children that have very early bedtimes,” Mr. McPhee goes on as the elevator arrives with a ding. “But everyone who helps here has day jobs during the week and can only work in the evening. And they’re so good at their jobs that I decided to not find day persons.”

The museum was open 10am to 5:45pm every day excluding Thanksgiving and Christmas. Over the last few years, on Friday and Saturday night, they opened back up at 6:30pm for three and a half hour interactions with the “people” of the exhibits like Sacagawea, the pharaoh Ahkmenrah, and the robotic Eastern Island Head who had an extremely sarcastic operator.

The two head to the second floor and come out beside the Hall of African Peoples. Once again her face lights up in wonder at the various cultures and peoples surrounding her as she had seeing the evolution of humans and Northwest Coastal Indians. She has some more “random” facts to share as she goes, purely full of delight as they pass into the Birds of the World.

Mr. McPhee manages to wrangle her into hurrying through the rest of the tour with a couple of quickly added facts about Capuchin monkeys when going through the Akeley Hall of African Mammals. Like all people, Hannah freezes at the giant dinosaur fossils around them on the fourth floor, awed. She seems to be truly excited over how their educational bits on dinosaurs had been edited to show them with feathers.

They return to the main floor in time for Larry to arrive, finishing up his tie and talking to a younger man at his side. “Okay, Nicky, remember, we have a new—Oh,” Larry grinds to a halt in front of Mr. McPhee and Hannah. He looks from his boss to his new one.

“Mr. Daley’s, this is Hannahlee McCullough, the new curator.” Mr. McPhee introduces the three. “This is the head nightguard Lawrence and his son Nicolas.”

“Hi, I’m Larry Daley.” He steps forward, holding out his hand to her and they shake. She turns to do the same with his son as he states, “And I’m Nicky.”

“A pleasure.” She steps back, taking a sip of her tea and finding it was empty. Hannah slowly lowers it and acts like she hadn’t tried to drink from an empty mug. “I hope we have a great time working together.”

“Same here.”

It falls into an awkward quiet and Mr. McPhee sighs. “Lovely, there’s _two_ of you here now.”

“S-sorry.” Hannah stammers out. “I’m just not good at introductions.”

“Certainly not.” He agrees severely. “You were very nervous when we interviewed several months ago, and just earlier you seemed ready to have a heart attack.” He checks his watch and then waves a hand. “I’ll introduce you to the actors and then I’ll be leaving for the night.”

Hannah turns sharply. “You aren’t going to, I dunno, stay around, help me figure out what I need to do?”

“Everyone else tends to have it handled at night,” he explains flippantly as Larry and Nicky watch. “I won’t need to show you how to file paperwork and sort items until tomorrow morning.”

Hannah nearly protests, but stops. She presses her lips together in a stressed smile. “Alright, sir.”

“Now come on.” He motions to his office that would eventually become hers. “I have some files to finish before the night starts.” He turns a sharp eye on Larry and Nicky. “You have everything in order, yes?”

“Yep, yep, of course.” Nicky nods, grinning.

Mr. McPhee sniffs and motions for Hannah to proceed him. Hannah scurries for the office, aware of him following behind.

“If you need a new tea bag,” Mr. McPhee starts as he enters in behind her. “The break room has several selections.”

“I should be fine.” She denies. “It was to just get me started.”

“Yes, of course. You clearly had the tea last time to just get through the interview, too.”

 _Wow_ , she thinks, _he really does notice everything._

“It really that obvious tea makes me more comfortable in a work environment?”

“Yes.” He sits behind his desk, and starts flicking through the papers to his right. “I understand you use it to become comfortable in an environment, especially one that involves you talking a lot.” He glances up at her. “Social anxiety?”

“No, sir.” Hannah closes her eyes, insanely embarrassed. “I’ve drank it for several years and it’s become a habit.”

“Hopefully not one you’re dependent on.”

Hannah thinks on that, quiet. Mr. McPhee finishes his work by the time the doors are ready to open for the night.

* * *

 While Hannah meets most of the people helping out, delighted to talk with Teddy about his historical counterpart and even discussing with the small figurine of Jedediah about the Manifest Destiny (and damn, the animatronics were so lifelike and gorgeous for ones so small!), she notices that the Mummy exhibit’s “occupant” seems to be missing.

Well, actually that’s a lie. He isn’t _missing_ , just avoiding people. Specifically her. And seeing as they haven’t met yet, it’s just freaking _rude_.

Hannah decides to track Larry down since Mr. McPhee had stated that Larry was friend’s with Amon’s father.

She’s marching up the stairs to the third floor, fresh cup of black tea with honey and a spoon of sugar in hand, and comes to find the Pharaoh in question talking to Columbus’s figure.

“You!” She can’t help the snap, and both men turn, equally startled.

“ _Salve_ ,” Hannah gives the actor a brief nod—he refused to break character and her Italian was utterly shit, not having visited Italy or thought she’d ever _need_ to speak it—before rounding on a startled Pharaoh. “You have been avoiding me all evening and I demand to know why.”

“I have not been avoiding you,” and he has a startlingly soft voice, the British lilt clear in his crisp pronunciation of the words, but a steel underlying them that is, dare Hannah think it, kingly, “and if it looked that way it wasn’t my intention. I thought you wanted to meet the others first.”

Hannah rolls her eyes. “Horse shit.”

And now he looks even more startled, green-brown gaze growing a tad wider. “I beg your pardon?”

“Twenty minutes ago you looked deadass me in the eyes, panicked, and went the other way. Dragging Nicky with you.”

Columbus, realizing this is an argument he doesn’t feel like being present to gossip about to the others later, raises his hands and takes a step back. The new curator, small and a tad dominating, going at it with a seasoned worker, who knows the place inside and out? Terrifying.

He mutters something in jittery Italian and backs away like one does from a volatile animal, then turns and runs. She doesn’t give the man a backwards glance, steely gaze trained on Amon. She plants a fist on her cocked hip, holding her mug aloft like one would a weapon.

“Why are you avoiding me, Amon?” She asks once more, sounding just like her mother when prying the truth (or quickly fabricated lie) from one of her three unruly children.

They hold gazes for a long time, locked in a battle of wills. Hannah, however, had come back from Europe a changed woman intent on being hardier in the face of adversity, and Amon looks away, stating in that soft voice, “You are planning to send my exhibit to Cairo. To stay.”

Hannah, unruffled, straightens a little more. “Yes. I plan to after McPhee has stepped down and I have complete control of the museum,” she admits. “Ahkmenrah’s body and his tablet belong in Cairo, not here or in the UK. It makes us glorified tomb robbers otherwise.” She waves her hand around. “This is the museum of natural history, so having exhibits from around the world for brief periods of time is _good_ , but the tomb has been here for over 50 years, and the UK for 40 before that.”

Hannah, able to see the edge of Amon’s dour look, sighs and deflates. “Amon, I know you’d rather have the exhibit here, both because of your heritage and sentimental value because you’ve been doing this so long…” She waits for him to look at her before going on, “But this is stolen, taken when white men came in, claiming whatever their eyes landed on as theirs, like graverobbers. Something they still do. And I’m not going to continue that.”

His hands curl into fists, but there’s a surprised gleam in his eyes that rings like gratitude. Hannah gives her best smile, lifting a shoulder in a “I’m trying my best” shrug.

Amon turns to face her fully, supplication lacing his voice.

“Could you be…persuaded to not move the exhibit?”

Lifting her eyebrows, Hannah asks, “I dunno, can you make a 10 page, single-spaced, 12 point, Times New Roman font in MLA formatted paper telling me why I shouldn’t make a bunch of white old men cry and maybe make another country happy?”

He stares at her, dumbfounded, then asks, being sure to enunciate each word carefully, “When do you want it by?”

“I—” She pauses, feeling like the Guy Eye Blink Meme from a few years back. Mouth open, prepared to say “I was joking,” she’s instead smacked with the insanely strong urge to make this man prove himself and announces, “You have four weeks. I expect it on my desk by the time I go home that night.”

A slow smile spreads across his lips, revealing white teeth. He takes her hand, lifting it as he slightly bends over and kissing her mother’s Claddagh resting on Hannah’s pinky, old and battered over the years. Heat rises in the apple of her cheeks, surprise making her nearly flinch back. Amon releases her hand, looking at her intently.

“I’ll be sure to give it to you promptly,” he promises, then turns and marches away.

Hannah watches him go, still stunned.

“What the fuck?” Hannah whispers quietly.

* * *

 

The night rounds out quietly. Hannah has drank two cups of black tea and one of chamomile to wind down for when she gets home (though her laptop and Google Docs is calling her, itching to work on her book). She locks up Mr. McPhee’s (her?) office and says goodnight to Larry and Nicky.

She nearly walks into Amon, chatting with Alan in Mongolian. They’re coming from the left, and she’s digging through her purse for her phone that had been vibrating the last several minutes with calls and texts from family and friends.

Hannah yelps, a brief heightened noise not unlike a tiny dog’s when it’s tail is accidentally trod on. Amon grabs her shoulders to steady her and Hannah pauses to breath, staring at him in surprise.

She steps back so fast she yanks herself out of his hands, half-yelling, “Sorry!”

He stumbles a little, and Alan laughs at them both. Hannah cuts him a glare and he shuts his mouth, looking away and whistling what sounds like “God Save the Queen.”

Hannah looks back to Amon and gives a half smile. “Sorry for,” she waves a hand around, “ _that_.”

“Do not worry. No harm, no fowl.”

For a moment she just looks at him, unsure of what to say next. So he takes the initiative and states, “Have a goodnight, Ms. McCullough.”

She swallows, face heating up, surprised by how he says her surname. It rolls off the tongue, diving over the edge, and is very sweet.

“Y-you too?”

Realizing how she’d said it, Hannah darts past him, running out the doors. She can hear Alan’s laughter following her down the steps, fading as she rounds the corner.

Hannah stops to breath, bent over. It’s then she realizes she’d left her mug in the office and curses, realizing she’d have to go back. Realizing she’d have to face how cringeworthy she just was to those men.

“Tomorrow,” she decides. “I’ll just bring a sachet tomorrow. Maybe Libra, to calm down. Or Enter the Labyrinth, since it _is_ my focus tea…”

Hannah rubs her eyes, cursing quietly. It had been a long day, from the two day drive to hauling shit up three flights of stairs to a weird teenagers to new coworkers being annoyingly charming. Now it was time to go home, put on soft pajamas, crack open _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ with a nice cup of Sleeping Beauty, and go the fuck to sleep before coming back at 8:30am tomorrow.

With all this decided, she heads down the street, unsuspecting of glowing yellow eyes trained on her, a familiar rainbow-painted teenager following from the shadows.

The walk home was as uneventful as the walk to work, using the elevator that had been fixed while she was gone. She pulls out her keys, has the correct one in the lock, when she realizes there’s someone else in the hallway by periphery alone. Hannah lifts her head to greet a fellow tenant and freezes at the sight of the girl from that morning. A straight shot of fear bolts down her spine, picking up her heart speed and straightening her slight slouch. Hannah quickly unlocks her door, shouting at the teen, “I’m calling the cops if you don’t fucking leave immediately!”

The girl raises her hands, eyes big. “Please, just hear me out! It’s important! You’re life could be in danger!”

Hannah’s nose scrunches and she hisses, “I’m gonna scream in 3…” Tabitha’s face contorts in horror. “2…” Hannah sucks in a breath and chokes as, right in front of her, Tabitha’s eyes turn molten yellow, fangs sharp and big begin to protrude from her mouth. Fur sprouts along her dark skin, thick and reddish-black. She seems to loom now, closer to seven feet tall instead of five and a half. Her nails have turned sharper and thinner, delicate and long.

Hannah stumbles back into her open doorway, heel catching on a box she’d accidentally left out. Hannah trips as Tabitha’s mouth falls open in surprise, rushing to catch the woman. Hannah chokes on a scream as a strong, thick paw wraps around her wrist, tugging her up onto her feet.

Tabitha, a verifiable motherfucking _werewolf_ , looks down at Hannah, desperation clear. “I’m sorry, but it's really important I talk to you.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before squeaking out, “Do you like tea?”


	2. Be It For Reason (Be It For Love) I Won't Take the Easy Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's..... been a while, huh? Hehe..... sorry.  
> The [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjmVW_cJt7w&list=PLDtyiKitDIvKCJaFS5dZ_gYK0uuzYZPCe&index=25&t=0s)

With unsteady feet, Hannah moves around her messy kitchen. She spoons into two diffusers enough of her _Free Spirit_ Ghibli blend to each make a large mug of steaming tea. She pauses mid-motion, staring down at the diffuser she had been locking the lid onto.

 _“Did he_ leave _you?”_ Tabitha had asked that morning, heartbreak in her eyes after calling Hannah ‘Marked.’

Like a goddamn supernatural romance novel. God, it tore Hannah up inside. Made her itch and ache in ways she had been ignoring so well.

With a far too aggressive huff, Hannah closes the diffuser and sets it into the sunflower shaped mug, wrapping the chain around the handle. She does the same with her rose mug and sets them beside the stove.

Hannah glances over at where Tabitha sits, fidgeting, looking around the messy, half-unpacked apartment. Tabitha glances back at Hannah, then whips back around at realizing she was caught staring. Uncomfortable, the woman heads down the hall to her bedroom, digging into the first box she gets to, pulling out her soft pink, white, and yellow striped pajama bottoms and her baggy Labyrinth tee with a smirking Jareth on the front. She strips, pulling the items on. Then she pulls her hair up, taking the hair clip on her bedside table and pulling the thick locks up off her neck.

She returns to the kitchen right as the tea kettle, an older, iron version that her aunt Jen had given her ages ago as a moving out present, begins to shrilly sing. She takes the pot off the heat, pouring into each cup. Hannah hits her 4 minute timer and rubs the bridge of her nose.

_“Your life could be in danger!”_

What she wanted to know is _why_ she was in danger. If she _was_ ‘Marked’ by a werewolf type yet to set foot in America, why would it matter she was here? Especially if she was a human with no knowledge of werewolves?

“Your apartment is nice.”

Hannah startles violently, knocking into her sunflower cup. It rattles in its saucer, steeping water sloshing dangerously, threatening to spill over. It doesn’t and Hannah looks at Tabitha, who stands in the doorway to the kitchen. Tabitha gives a soft smile. “I like your pants. Who’s on the shirt?”

Hannah blinks at the girl. Looks down at Jareth the Goblin King. Hannah answers softly, adding after, “I guess he was waaay before you, huh? You can’t be older than eighteen.”

“I’m sixteen, in fact.” Tabitha answers proudly. “The eldest of my sisters and the pack liaison.”

The woman stares at Tabitha, blinking a few times, jaw loose. “You’re _sixteen_ and talking between packs?” Anxiety shoots through Hannah, mingling with her fear and worry. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No. It’s a general rule that packs are only allowed to elect people between the ages 15 and 25, unmarried, to be liaisons and must be level-headed.” Tabitha shrugs. “Like Spock with a bit of Scotty.”

“You know _Star Trek_ but not _Labyrinth_?”

“My family is obsessed with it. We own all the movies, the original series, and most the rest.” Tabitha walks closer, slowly, eyes showing her hesitation. Hannah could imagine the girl’s ears being flattened back as a werewolf, calculating how far she could get before going too far.

Taking a deep breath, not ready to open up, Hannah picks up the rose cup and holds it out to Tabitha. “It isn’t ready yet. My alarm should go off soon and you can add honey, sugar, milk, whatever you want. It has grapefruit and orange peel in it, though, so I advice against the milk.”

“It smells nice.” Tabitha lifts the cup up, taking a deep inhale. She sighs out. “I like the blend. Though it can’t be as good as my Mama’s tea.”

“I mean, I’ve been drinking this for four years and never had hers so I dunno.”

Her phone alarm goes off and Hannah unhooks the chain so she can set the diffuser on the edge of the sink. Tabitha follows suit before taking a testing sip of the tea before grabbing the honey and pouring a generous helping in, using the tea spoon set on the counter to mix it. Tabitha takes another sip, hums happily, and watches Hannah drink hers without any additives in tiny sips due to the heat of the tea.

“Do you want to wait until we’ve finished or…?”

Her shoulders lift, cringing into her tea, but Hannah nods. “We should do it now. Waiting won’t help my anxiety.”

Tabitha exhales, looking 30 pounds freer. “Oh, thank Shiva. I was _choking_ on the scent you were putting out. Marked humans are always so strong in the scent, it’s why it’s so hard to tell they’re Marked and not Puppies.”

Hannah leads Tabitha to the living room. She sits on her coffee table, cup lowered to rest in her crossed legs, as Tabitha takes the couch. The teenager sits openly, eyes bright with honesty and care. She even goes so far as to gently pat Hannah’s knee.

“So, first of all, I must properly introduce myself. I was too excited this morning and got ahead of myself. It’s been awhile since I welcomed someone to New York.” Tabitha presses her hand to her heart, announcing, “I am Tabitha Dayanita Varma, liaison to the central New York City pack. Sometimes we’re called the Brooklyn pack.”

At the expectant look, Hannah stumbles out, “Oh, uhm. I’m Hannahlee McCullough. I’m from North Carolina. I’m not, uh, not  _part_ of a pack.”

“And that’s why I’m here to help. Finding out about the supernatural is never an easy ride” Tabitha pats Hannah’s knee again. “The fact you weren’t told you were Marked when it happened is pretty serious, considering how badly it messes with the hormones and, for some, even the psyche of the individual.”

Her head tilts, sleek hair falling over her shoulders. Tabitha takes a sip of her tea, sniffs the air a few times, and says. “Hm, there are traces of two other wolves on you, too. Male. One a lot more heavier and… hn… familial to the other. The fainter one is a passing scent.”

“I don’t really hang out with guys.” Hannah offers up, hunching closer to her mug. “The ones I’ve been around the most is my friend Annie’s husband Aynaan and my ex-roommate Ben and his friend Brendon….” A tiny ball forms in the pit of her stomach. “Wait, can you guess age?”

“On the heavier one, sure. He’s maybe, like, early to mid thirties. _Really_ sweaty. Everything in here has his scent too.”

Hannah’s lips press flat, trying to stem the shout of Ben’s full name. A quelling sip stems it. “I know who it is.”

“Oh, good! That way if he shows up it’s not going to be a pissing contest!” Tabitha bounces in her seat. “Okay, so, that was the most important thing, if I’m honest. Though, like, you are _totally_ in a shipload of danger without a pack to protect you because you are Marked and that means the Marker can feel the heightened distress and fear of their Chosen. And, as the Marked of a Corvinus, that makes you, like, Grade A black market.” Tabitha looks upon Hannah’s stunned face, taking in her rising stress levels and adjusting accordingly. “ _But_ I immediately went home after my mess up this afternoon and asked our Alphas if I could welcome you in, open arms and all. Which they agreed to. You still following?”

Hannah nods, numb to everything. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, other than a bucket of icy water sloshed all over her after this insane clusterfuck.

Why hadn’t Brendon or Ben told her about the Mark? Why hadn’t _Lucian_? God, just thinking his name brought up his soft, wheezy laugh, the way his smile was small and fleeting. The gentleness of his eyes. The roughness of his calloused palms on her waist… It all made her heart hurt and her thighs clench. She closes her eyes at the hot press of tears, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. “Sorry. I’m… it’s a lot. How does being Marked work?”

“Well, for wolves it’s a claiming. It binds you together, like marriage. There is a sharing of emotions and, on rare occasions, thoughts. It’s easy to block though. For a wolf and a human it's a big mess, usually.” Tabitha lets out a gusty sigh. “The bite really messes up a human’s hormones and shit, has them wanting to cling to the wolf and crying if they part ways for more than a couple minutes. The first few weeks, anyway. The wolf feels it like a regular claiming, just a bit stronger because humans are weaker and the slack has to be picked up somewhere. But it’s so strange he left, because from what we know Corvinus wolves only Mark for deep, unbreakable love. The soul-deep kind. If I’m honest, I’m surprised you’re as put together as you are. And you’re, like, acting _completely_ unphased by it.”

“I don’t really have any other choice.” Hannah rasps, tea forgotten, the words _deep, unbreakable love_ and _soul-deep_ rebounding in her head until it was a shriek. “It does explains my mood swings.”

Tabitha nods in agreement, a hint of concern starting to peak through her visage. “Since he isn’t here to assert the Mark, it should dull over time. Give it around a year. It does heighten aggression and lower inhibitions just a little, so if you’ve been more bold and flirty lately, that’s why.”

Not like Hannah could tell anyone that if she realized she was flirting. Hannah was what Annie loved to call an Oblivious Flirt. Hannah never picked up on flirting except subconsciously, and as far as her own flirting went it was impossible except under the same circumstances. It was forever bringing her friends misery when they went out.

“Should I come back tomorrow?”

Hannah jumps, tea sloshing, and looks up from her lap to Tabitha. The teen stares back, dark eyes earnest. She genuinely wants to help Hannah, to explain all the questions piling up in the woman’s mind when she isn’t numb.

“Or, uhm, whenever is fine for you?”

“I’m off Sunday.” Hannah says on autopilot. “You can come back then. For lunch. I can bake cupcakes.”

Tabitha’s eyes dart to the side, thinking, debating, and then asks, slowly, “Would you like to come meet the pack instead? It’s… _much_ sooner than Mama suggests but, well, I personally think it’s for the better.” The young werewolf slides forward in her seat, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on Hannah’s knee. The woman doesn’t flinch but she does tense. “You smell like lone wolves and a Corvinus and smelling of a pack sooner, rather than later, will protect you.”

“I… I,” Hannah licks her lips, sets down her tea. Her heart is picking up, slamming against her ribcage. She swallows, trying to think past the blind terror attempting to overtake her at the idea of meeting a pack. It was the dumb Mark, she knew that now. When she’d come back to America and Ben had picked her up, a similar blind panic had risen in her.

“I’ll leave my number.” Tabitha interjects softly. “Just call or text me tomorrow whenever you’ve made a decision. I understand it’s hard for you right now with me here.”

Tabitha sets her empty cup down gently, standing. She pulls a pad of sticky notes and a lottery pencil out and writes down her number. Hannah watches her walk around to stick it to the coffee table. Hannah finds her voice when Tabitha reaches the door.

“W-wait!”

The teen turns, patient.

“Come find me. Tomorrow. When I go on break. At noon.”

Tabitha nods and exits, closing the door with a cheerful, “Sleep well.”

For how long Hannah sits there, numb, staring at the closed, locked front door, Hannah doesn’t know. She stands at some point, walking across her apartment to lock the deadbolt and put the chain on. It wouldn’t protect her from a _werewolf_ , not now that she knew they were real, but there was still a sense of comfort to be had having three locks on her door. She turns, going back to pick up the tea cups and carry them to the sink. She cleans them with slow strokes, setting them in the drying rack because the washer would hurt the delicate porcelain petal edges of the rims.

A long while later, once she realizes she’s stood at her sink for far too long, Hannah exits the kitchen, turning off the light as she goes. Her phone lights up where she had set it on a side table, a message from Lea in the group chat.

 _“_ **_How’s the new apartment?_ ** _”_

 _“_ **_I love it! I’ll send photos tomorrow. Gotta get some rest for work._ ** _”_

 _“_ **_Sleep well! Heading to work now._ ** _”_

 _“_ **_Good night!_ ** _”_

Hannah’s hands begin to tremble. Her heart feels to be breaking in two, needle-like claws are tearing each half into thin ribbons. She presses the unlock button on her phone, holding it down until Siri activates. “C…” A shudder drags through her. “Call Nomes.”

The deep Australian voice confirms and the phone rings. Hannah holds it to her ear, pressing down. Her chest feels bound by a thick leather cord that is slowly, so slowly, squeezing the life from her.

Noemi picks up on the fifth ring, concern clear. “Hannah? You never call. What is it?” A dry sob expels from Hannah’s mouth at her friend’s gentle voice, knees giving out and she crashes to the floor, curling in on herself. Her forehead presses to the cool ground, bringing a little of her mind back. The nurse’s voice raises two octaves, concern spiking, “Hannah?”

“Hannah?!” Noemi shouts as Hannah covers her mouth to muffle the next sob and whine to follow. Her phone drops with a clatter. “Speak to me! What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone die? Hannah!”

“I’m sorry.” Hannah chokes out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

She hits the end call button and a second later her phone lights up with the image of her friend wearing giant bee glasses, holding a stein full of lemon margarita, Hannah’s cheek pressed to hers, wearing a donkey’s ass for glasses and a stein just like hers. The phone vibrates violently, over and over, playing a haunting melody belonging to Noemi. It rings out and starts back up. And Hannah continues to sit there, sobbing, hiding her face in her hands. She rocks her body, sitting back on her ass to press into the back of her couch.

After an hour, the texts start, a chaotic mix of Noemi’s ringtone and the Kim Possible beeps she had given Stacey and Bailey a lifetime ago. Hannah picks up the phone and, tired of the noise, turns it off, throwing it over her shoulder and the back of the couch to it’s cushions.

Hannah curls up on the floor, hugging her stomach. At some point her crying tapers off, the pain begins to numb itself once more, and she finds some semblance of control. She manages to drag the crochet blanket on the back of her couch off, wrapping it around her with a good portion bunched under her head as a pillow, before properly passing out.

* * *

The distant beep of her alarm clock wakes Hannah up. She yawns, stretching. Her spine bops in several places. Her right arm is numb from being pinned between her and the floor for several hours. She slowly rises, stumbling a little.

Hannah shakes her head to clear away the sleep haze and stumble to her bathroom. She starts the shower then slinks into her bedroom, leaving the shower to heat up, and shuts off the alarm and pulls out work clothes from the boxes she would finish unpacking tonight. She sets the clothes on her unmade bed to return to the bathroom.

A single dull throb echoes from Hannah’s heart and she pauses in stripping. She faces the mirror over her sink, takes in the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders curve forward too much compared to their usual hunched state. She thinks about last night, all that Tabitha had told her and the following break down.

The thought of texting or calling Noemi and telling her what had happened seemed impossible. Her friend didn’t belong in this world. Hannah sure as hell didn’t, no matter how often she daydreamed about being swept off her feet by a charming supernatural creature. The reality was far less fun. There was also the shame in calling mid-breakdown instead of waiting after.

Hannah steps into the shower, letting the warm spray release any lingering tension in her body. She washes her hair, taking the time to message the conditioner deep into her scalp, knowing she’d smell strongly of pomegranate seeds and honey afterwards. She brushes her teeth as the conditioner sets and washes her body, shaving too. She washes out the conditioner and shuts off the shower.

Toweling herself off quickly, Hannah goes through the motions of her basic makeup before carefully adding concealer under her eyes. Hannah puts her hair up in her towel and heads into her bedroom, getting dressed. The time is 7:10am when she reads the clock, giving Hannah time to eat breakfast, prep her lunch and dinner, and be out the door.

Easy. She’s been doing this for two years now.

She opens the fridge, thinking of a light lunch and filling dinner and then realizes there’s nothing inside except a cup of strawberry yogurt, a cup of blueberry yogurt, and plastic wrapped provolone cheese. She suddenly wishes she had decided to go shopping last night and settles on eating the cups of yogurt with water for breakfast before googling nearby cheap places to eat.

 _God_ , Hannah thinks, _this will make a shitty second day impression, no matter the circumstances._

She finishes eating at 7:30am and decides a quick 15 minute nap before making her sachet of tea to take to work will pass the time, mind too high-strung to work on her book (and if she managed to get passed that she didn’t want to go to work mid-groove). Leaving at 8am allows her to get to work early, brew some tea, and relax while there, in a place a werewolf wouldn’t risk discovery.

Hannah pretends they wouldn’t in a bid to get a foothold in power.

Nicky greets her at the door, Larry having gone home after closing as the museum only needed one nightguard at any given time except during “Night at the Museum.” It was to give the place a boost in protection because, for some reason, people try to steal the robotic displays. The favorites tended to be the little figurines due to stealing ease, according to Nicky. Though they’d been programmed to fight back.

Hannah thought that cute, saying as much, and Nicky agreed. Adding with a grin, “The thieves don’t think so.”

He nods at her empty hands. “No tea?”

She gives a good-natured wince. “I left my travel mug, the _only_ one I own I might add, here overnight. So I brought a sachet to brew.”

“I’m taking it a sashay isn’t a hip wiggle?” And he shimmies his hips to prove a point. Hannah chokes on a laugh, covering her mouth.

“It’s pronounced the same but like. More French.” Hannah explains, entering the break room and finding her mug in the sink.

Nicky and her talk a little more as she cleans out her mug, mostly about his classes at NYU. She sets the electric kettle to boil, and drops the little sachet of _Enter the Labyrinth_ into the bottom of her mug. A spoon of sugar or honey with a two second pour of cream would have this brew tasting amazing.

By the time it’s done, McPhee is coming into work. She ducks down a little as he passes on the way to the office.

Nicky raises an eyebrow. “Scared of McPhee already? Trust me. He’s harmless.”

“I don’t wanna get rung out for coming in so early.” Hannah says. “Being yelled at by a Brit has always been more terrifying than being yelled at by, like, a drill sergeant.”

“Get yelled at by those often?”

“No. But my dad was a military man.”

Nicky’s lips make a little _O_ shape, expression slack with realization. “I see. I’ll stay with you then.”

Hannah laughs at that, but doesn’t ask him to leave. “Thanks,” she tells him sincerely, and relaxes into her seat.

Hannah drinks her tea, letting it settle in her soul and warm her. She can forget her worries in the early morning, forgets she had asked Tabitha to come see her at lunch time, that she had called Noemi last night in a blind panic before hanging up and never answering. She lets it fall away, focusing on the smooth taste of her tea.

“My shift is nearly over.”

Hannah blinks opens her eyes to look at Nicky. He seems chagrined to be pulling her from the easy fog she had rested under.

“What?” He opens his mouth to repeat what he said before she interjects, “ _Oh_! Okay.” Hannah rises from her seat, pushing it in. She smiles at him, friendly and challenging. “Get a lot of sleep and make sure your homework is done. I’ll tell your dad if you don’t.”

“Pretty sure I’m older than you.”

“And you’re the one still in college. I’m not.” Nicky raises his hands, conceding defeat, and Hannah chuckles softly. “Go ahead and go. I’ll tell Mr. McPhee I sent you home.”

“Thanks.”

Hannah watches Nicky head for the back rooms before exiting the break room. She knocks on the office door before letting herself in.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning.” He greets, already finished with whatever paperwork he had to do. “How was your tea break?”

Hannah presses her mouth flat, looking at the ceiling, thinking, _God my luck is_ **_shit_ ** _._

“It was good, Mr. McPhee. Thanks.”

“You filled out most of your paperwork after being accepted for the job.” He gets down to business instead of nagging at her about coming in so early, pulling out the papers she would need to fill out. “But there’s still some left. W2 taxes, all that. I couldn’t find the blasted files yesterday otherwise you’d have done it then.”

Hannah pulls a pen from her purse as he talks. “You know how to fill this out, correct? I know you’ve had your last job for 3 years and these are so tedious they’re easy to forget.”

“I can.”

“Perfect.” He digs around a little longer and slaps down another form. “And the most important one: the Werewolf Registry.”

Hannah chokes on air, coughs. She manages in a strangled voice, “ _What?_ ”

Mr. McPhee gives her a dry look. “I understand you haven’t moved from North Carolina since settling their 11 years ago, but it's important to keep the Pack affiliations up to date and the government off the backs of humans like me. If anything happened to you, we’d need to contact the correct Pack members.”

“I-I’m not a werewolf,” Hannah stammers, embarrassed by this situation.

“Of course you are. Tabitha wouldn’t accost a random civilian otherwise.” He waves a hand. “It's fine to be nervous but it’s for the protection of your former Pack and new one.”

“I’m really not, though.” Hannah insists. “I was bitten but not… I wasn’t _turned_. He, uh, Marked me.”

Mr. McPhee’s face pinches in consternation. “There isn’t a file for it. Not one _I_ have, in any matter. The central New York Pack has one.” He raises an eyebrow. “I assume you’re going to be joining them, as they’re closest.”

“I am.” Hannah hadn’t realized she’d decided to until that moment. “Tabitha is coming to talk with me at lunch. I’m going to see them tomorrow since I’m off.”

“Perfect.” The curator puts the file away with a heavy huff. “You know your Mate’s name and their type correct? Will they be coming up at some point?”

“It, uh,” a pink flush covers her cheeks. “It was a bite and run, while I was in Europe.”

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline, impressed and alarmed. “And you’re not an emotional mess? I commend you. My sister-in-law was a god awful mess for two months. I refused to see either in person for a year.”

“You’re a werewolf?”

“God, no. My sister was attacked as a child.” He shrugs. “A Benandanti took her underwing and Rachel told me everything she learned.”

Hannah sits there, taking in that information. Hesitantly, she asks, “What kind of werewolf?”

“No idea. Was so long ago that any creator bonds are severed, anyway.” He takes the offered files from Hannah and sets them aside to file later. “It was probably one of those rare species from Norway or Russia. The Corvinus are practically extinct and always kill if they attack and the An Fianna have moved here or to Canada.”

Hannah exhales at his words. “Do you wish you did?”

“Not really. She’s not allergic to silver or crosses, so it isn’t an issue.” Mr. McPhee shoos her to get up. Hannah pushes her purse under her seat and stands, clutching her mug of tea. “That’s the biggest difference with werewolf species. Some can’t touch certain items or be on blessed ground, others can. The only thing they all share is that wolfsbane allergy. Drink it within 24 hours of being bitten and it reverses the effects.”

“You’re pretty forthcoming about all this.”

“You try living your day to day life with a supernatural creature for a twin sister.” It’s such a dry delivery of an insane topic and Hannah just…cracks up. She laughs and laughs and laughs, then finds herself crying. He gives a soft, “Ah, there it is.”

She waves a hand at him, as though asking for a few moments. She cries for a bit, doing her best to ignore the way her soul clawed to get out, the way she wanted to run. Hannah wished she could run away from this mess and at the same time run towards Lucian, irrational as it was. And she knew why. She knew why and she _despised_ it, pure spite fueling herself to stop crying and calm down.

Hannah wipes away her tears, takes calming breaths, and grins at Mr. McPhee.

“Let’s focus on work.”

Mr. McPhee shrugs. “Like I said, I commend you."

* * *

Hannah comes from the office with a yawn, enjoying the sight of hundreds of people milling around the museum. The number of people had dwindled back down after several years of _Night at the Museum_ , but the vigor and drive was still there. Hannah raises her arms above her head, leaning back until her sternum pops, then she shoulders her purse a little higher on her shoulder and heads out to find somewhere for lunch.

“Have a good break,” Sam says as Hannah passes.

“You, too.” Hannah nods at the gothic woman and exits the building.

She’s at the bottom of the steps when she realizes she hadn’t told Tabitha where to meet her. Hannah hesitates to pull her phone out, it still turned off, unable to face her friends and the chaos she had caused last night during her breakdown. The werewolf in question saves her from the choice.

“Hannah!”

The woman’s head snaps up as Tabitha bounds forward in a quick skip, hair up in messy curls, in more phosphorescent yellow than any other color today. It makes Hannah’s eyes hurt, but that may be the point with how people avoid the girl, giving the teen a wide berth. Tabitha skids to a stop, sneakers neon purple with neon orange laces today.

“Ready to go to lunch?” Her eyes shine, liquid darkness, somehow warm and inviting despite the eerie lack of depth. “There’s a great Thai place around the corner.”

Hannah opens her mouth, aiming to ask where it is, but Tabitha seems to think it’s something else.

“You smelled like Thai food yesterday.” Tabitha answers. “So I figured it’s a good place to start.”

Her mouth makes an _O_ shape before smiling a little. “I had leftovers the night before the movers came.”

“Ew.” Tabitha’s face scrunches up. “Thai leftovers are never good. Particularly spicy shrimp soup.”

“I think green chicken curry is amazing either way.” Hannah dismisses, following the teen as she begins to lead the way to a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. The streets are packed with business men and women heading to and fro, a line of people texting on their phones at a hotdog cart, and as they pass by an older homeless man sitting against a wall Hannah pauses. Tabitha does too, giving Hannah a curious look as the woman digs into her purse to find her wallet and pull out a twenty dollar bill. She holds it out to the man. He gives her a stunned look even as she smiles, waiting until he’s taken the offered cash to pull back. “Make sure to get something filling to eat.”

Then she takes Tabitha’s arm and pulls her along. Tabitha continues to give her a surprised look, trying to puzzle out why Hannah had done it. But then she gives up when an answer isn’t coming forth and smiles.

“We need to turn up ahead.”

They find the place, tiny and innocuous, maybe a little busy to what it usually would be with how Tabitha frowns. But, ever an optimist, she bounds for the front desk, chirping, “Table for two!”

The maître d’ grins at Tabitha and says something in Thai. The two have a brief conversation, complete with moving hands from Tabitha and head nodding from both women. The maître d’ grabs two menus and motions for them to follow her to a table settled in a corner near the kitchens. Tabitha takes the seat that nestles her into the corner, inhaling deeply when the kitchen door opens, allowing the smell of spices and chicken and coconut to proliferate the area. Hannah takes her seat and thanks the maître d’, taking the menus.

“She asks for this table every time,” the woman tells Hannah. “And it's good to see someone not her mother in here.”

Hannah isn’t sure how to respond, nodding her head so the maître d’ could leave. Tabitha looks around at the other guests eating, humming in delight. “I was thinking of getting a soup. What about you?”

Hannah shrugs. “I don’t know what they have.”

Tabitha leans over to tap the menu. “Then look! We can talk after our food gets here. Food makes everything better!”

Dryly, a little bubble of fondness starting to expand in her chest, “I’m starting to understand why you’re the liaison for packs.”

Tabitha grins adorably, showing pearlescent teeth and sharp fangs. Hannah’s pulse jumps once and calms right after, tamping down on the pure animalistic fear she wouldn’t normally have. “Thanks!”

Tabitha gets Tom Kha Kai and Hannah settles on Pad Krapow Moo Saap, both getting water. The waiter is nice, but she doesn’t give him much mind.

“I’d actually like to talk now.” Hannah says after the man has dropped off their waters and left. “I want to meet your Pack.”

“Oh, good!” Tabitha fiddles with her silverware. “I was worried you’d say no.”

Hannah frowns at that. “Why? I could have changed my mind later on after I felt more comfortable.”

“Well,” and Tabitha fidgets with her silverware some more, “the rules are that, after I extend invitation, if you decline I can’t ask again. You’d have had to find me and ask to meet the Pack.”

The curator continues to frown. “That makes no sense.”

“To humans, yes. For me and other werewolves? It’s normal.” Tabitha takes a pull from her water, humming in contemplation. “Though I could talk to Mama about having that changed for cases such as you.”

“Bite and runs.” Hannah says softly.

“Yes.” Tabitha gives Hannah an empathetic look, as though she understands the emotional upheaval trying to destroy Hannah’s mind and body every second of the day. “If you’d been turned, you could have drank wolfsbane to reverse the process. It’s as poisonous to humans as it is werewolves, however, and it doesn’t remove Marks.”

Hannah frowns at that. “Then how could I have drank it?”

The young werewolf shrugs. “Something about the transition from human to werewolf suspends the poison. Drinking it while in that stage will, like, flush your system. You’ll end up with a stomach ache afterwards, maybe some diarrhea, but won’t be itching to howl at the full moon. Or change during it if bit by one of those types.”

“Yikes.”

Tabitha grins widely at Hannah. “Beats flea medication. A lot older wolves, and Bitten wolves, have to take it.”

The woman laughs, delighted and skeptical. “You’re joking. You gotta be.”

“I am.” Tabitha giggles. “I love telling people that.” She shakes her head, smile disappearing. “Anyway, Mama is open for whenever you’re comfortable.”

The waiter brings their food before Hannah can respond and she gives him a fleeting smile and “thank you”. Tabitha does as well and grabs her spoon, digging in gleefully while Hannah goes at a steadier pace.

“You suggested I could come on Sunday. I’m not… uh, I’m not opposed to it.” Hannah fiddles with her food, mixing it all together, appetite ravenous but unsure of what else to do yet. She meets Tabitha’s eyes, ever sweet and ever dark. “I could make the cupcakes still.”

“Papa _loves_ cupcakes.” Tabitha says, giddiness seeming to glow from within her as she speaks. “If you can make strawberry, I think he’ll adopt you without second thought.”

“I haven’t gone shopping yet so I can’t,” Hannah admits. “But maybe next time I can bring some. I brought plenty of ingredients for cookies. I...” She gets a spoon full of rice and pork and herbs on her wide spoon, pausing in her talking to pop it in her mouth, chew, and swallow. Then she picks up, “I really like to bake. I just tend to have extra for cookies instead of cakes or pies.”

Tabitha hums, visage turning pensive. “I could go shopping for you. Just make a list and gimme the cash.”

Hannah chokes on the water she’d swallowed, hacking out, “I can’t do that! You have better things to do!”

“You had only yogurt and tea for breakfast.” Tabitha points out and Hannah flushes at being caught. “I’d like to make sure you don’t have to cram shopping in after meeting my family. I doubt Mama is going to let you leave so quickly if you come for lunch and enjoy yourself.”

“We could do it early then,” Hannah suggests. “At ten.”

Tabitha brings the bowl to her lips and Hannah doesn’t know how the girl ate so quickly while Hannah has barely touched her food. Tabitha drinks down the broth, ending with a satisfied sigh, and says above the _thump_ of her bowl hitting the table, “Ten works.”

Hannah relaxes into her seat. Tabitha reaches over to push the plate closer. “Eat. I can feel your stomach clenching.” She pursed her lips. “I hate knowing you’re not eating well.”

“It’s fine. I’m always being told I need to-”

“Whoever tells you that is an asshole,” Tabitha cuts off smoothly. “You’re cute. The rounded, rosy cheeks are beautiful on you. And the chub? God, anyone who wouldn’t be wild for those love handles are stupid.”

Hannah chuckles, looking down. She brushes her hair back out of her face, remembering when Lucian—

She stops the thought, face flushing and feeling emptier than usual.

“Hannah, there’s ice cream down the way.” Tabitha speaks up, a force to her voice that means she was smelling all the scents Hannah was putting out. Shame rises and Tabitha grabs her hand. “Hey,” and she ducks down so their eyes meet, “there is _nothing_ wrong with thinking about him and wanting him. It’s normal. It’s learning to keep him off your mind that’s hard.” She grins, a soft thing with fragile edges. “Lets get ice cream.”

Hannah nods. Tabitha pushes the bowl closer to Hannah. “ _After_ you finish eating.”

Hannah laughs, but manages to pick her spoon back up.

* * *

Paperwork, Hannah learns very quickly, is tedious and annoying. It’s not boring, because you can come across very interesting things. There’s just a lot of it and not reading the fine print can fuck you over.

She learns how to write letters to other museums and make requisitions (Mr. McPhee had a template for both, apparently even he couldn’t be bothered to remember everything.) and took her through the motions on responding to letters or requisitions with a fine print intended to “twist your arm until you either chew it off or give up”. The world of museums and exhibits are trickier than she’d ever imagined, full of just as many assholes as there are well-intended people wanting to bring knowledge to the world.

Mr. McPhee stays long enough to settle Hannah into the office for the night (“You’re unlikely to be needed but it’s good to always be in running distance, I’ve learned.”) and leaves before the Night at the Museum is set to start.

Hannah spends time scrolling through and reading past logs, writes a few practice requisition forms, and writes up a transfer form for the Ahkmenrah exhibit. She puts it in her little folder Mr. McPhee had created for her, a little touched he’d figured out how to change the image of her folder to an eight-point star.

It’s ten or so minutes after the night begins that there is a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

She looks up to find Amon there, in full Pharoah garb, looking a bit perplexed as he held a laptop awkwardly in arm. Hannah quirks a brow, unable to fight off a smile.

“Shouldn’t you be off teaching kids how mummification works?” She asks, nodding towards one of the two seats for him to sit.

Amon comes in, taking a seat. He gives Hannah a shy smile, still holding the laptop awkwardly. “Yes, usually. Teddy offered to take over for a short time so we may converse.”

“Oh really?” She shuts down the computer, crossing her arms and leaning against the desk. “What about?”

“The paper you told me to write.”

Hannah blinks at him, mind completely blank. A paper? About _what_ ? And then she remembers her transfer form for the Ahkmenrah exhibit and can’t keep from yelping, “OH! _THAT_.” She laughs a little. “That was a joke. It's not… oh, jeez.”

His face falls. “So there is no way to convince you?”

“I mean, if you really do make an MLA formatted paper with citations, I’ll have to keep the exhibit.” Hannah admits, because she’s not an asshole and in the face of such astounding love for something she can’t say, “Lol nope you’re outta luck, bitch” and go on with her life. People who kick babies say that. “You still have four weeks, minus one day.”

She isn’t sure what to say after that, and Amon looks really happy to have it confirmed he’d still have a job in four weeks. She didn’t doubt he’d write that paper. She shifts in her seat, grabs a stack of files to look through again, and then pauses.

Hannah should get to know her employees. It’s what she was supposed to do, right? Right.

“What…” she licks her lips, looks at Amon, who waits patiently for her to finish her thought. “What convinced you to take this job?”

He blinks at her, clearly surprised. She flushes, runs her hand through her hair. “Sorry. Its just… I should get to know those working under me, right? That is what I’m supposed to do?”

“Yes.” He nods. And hesitates. “I… wanted to share my ancestors history, and encourage others to explore the world. To look past whatever they may think of mummies and Egypt to find more. To find a world unlike what we see now.”

“You even want people to acknowledge the slavery used to build the pyramids, including the one our housed Pharoah once rested in?” Hannah arches a brow, wondering if he did want that.

“Pharaoh Ahkmenrah did not supported it.” Amon says, an oddly sharp downturn of his mouth growing. “Jews were paid and given long resting hours during his reign compared to other Pharaohs.”

“Paid or not, given breaks or not, being forced to move such heavy stones was backbreaking and cruel. The people who ruled before and after him relied on keeping Jews downtrodden to get things done. Everything about Egypt was built on slavery. Just like the US. Just like near every country in the world.” Hannah shakes her head. “And you can’t make claims about a pharaoh being against slavery without having concrete proof. It doesn’t work that way, Amon. You need sources.”

“I shall include it in my paper.” Amon says, brow heavy and mouth pursed. He had the face of a young scholar, freshly out of college and hopeful, earnest in a way that would break hearts.

She really hoped his paper came out as good as he seemed to think it would.

Hers never had.

Hannah smiles. Its her nicest smile, one shared with friends and colleagues she considered herself close to. His scholarly look slackens, eyes going doe-soft and sweet, mouth curving in an round shape.

“I can’t wait to read it, then.”

It's as good a dismissal she can manage, not used to having people under her command yet. Eventually, Hannah knows, she’ll acclimate to her role.

Amon stands, thanks her, and disappears back out the door. He closes it behind him, shutting it with a faint snap.

* * *

Hannah finds herself in the Black Forest, the distant sound of black-tailed squirrels and the rustle of leaves drawing her attention. She’s deeper in than she could ever remember being, dressed in a heavy coat and woolen shirt, skirt, and thick, warm tights with tightly laced boots. A tiny part of her acknowledges this is a dream. Knows it must be because she had just finally gotten her bed to feel comfortable enough to sleep in.

Frost layers the ground in little patches, like an artist had tastefully chosen each spot, every nook and cranny that coveted ice and snow, dampening leaves yet to be turned to worm food. She looks up and up into the heavy branches turning barren with the coming winter, turns her gaze ahead before turning to see where she was.

It was easy to see she had strayed from the marked paths. It wasn’t easy to see where it was or how far she’d come. On instinct her hand strays to her purse, finds her inhaler, and relaxes. She turns more, listening to the squirrels, listening for the rush of water and distant, deafening roar of a waterfall. Hannah knows on instinct she is far from Triberg and wonders why she knows what the belly of the Black Forest, home of Little Red and Rapunzel, looks like.

Then she hears the shuffling of the forest floor, heavier than the careful brushes from tiny rodent paws. She whips around, looking around fast for what or who had found her. And she comes to a jarring stop not seconds later, gazing into phosphorescent blue eyes more man than beast, resting in a mangy black-brown coat. The wolf is large, looking to be a Kenai Peninsula wolf, odd since they were arctic wolves and tended towards white and gray. She thinks, if she allowed it to stand by her, the wolf would reach nearly her chest.

Hannah also thinks she recognizes those eyes but she hasn’t seen them in two weeks and they never glowed so brightly.

She takes a step forward, reaching out slowly. The wolf tenses, something like shock in that blue gaze when she speaks, robbed of her breath as she gasps, “Lucian.”

She blinks and whatever spell on her dreaming mind is broken. It’s no longer an extinct Kenai Peninsula wolf staring at her, but a wolf-ish creature like Tabitha had been the night before. Tall, looming a good two or so feet over her, maw long and filled with dangerous teeth that appeared blunted with age but no less dangerous. A tiny part of her heart trembles in terror, at the knowledge the things she’d lived her life believing were pure fiction were now real. But the rest of her heart yanks her forward, closing the distance, reaching out for him.

Her mind tells her not to, that she’s being a complete dumbass. The thing is that she might be aware she’s dreaming but it doesn’t mean she’s allowed control. Lucid dreaming had slowly been left in her childhood, with Peter Pan and fairy dust for flying.

“I can’t believe it’s you.”

Lucian backs away, quick and agile for such a large, almost unwieldy body. Hannah sways to a stop, hands dropping to her sides and curling into fists. Her teeth grit, a spark of hurt flaring inside her breast, threatening to become a blaze that would consume her. She tamps it down, blinking back the icy sting of tears in the chilly mountain air.

“You _bit_ me.” She says, mouth moving on it’s own. Hannah was never so forthright in her feelings, used to sealing them up until the bottle was shaken too hard and left to explode. “You _bit me_ and _Marked me_ and left me like that.”

Lucian gives a single, plaintive whine. His eyes are so damp with hurt and shared pain. Her heart aches and she wants to forgive him. She wants her heart back more. Wants to not be fighting this urge to let her brittle walls shatter and leave her a mess on the floor until he fixes it. But Lucian isn’t really here. He isn’t interested in fixing his fuck up.

If he was as gentlemanly as he’d acted, Lucian would have immediately told her what he’d done and tried to fix it. Whether it meant having her stay in Europe or him follow her to America.

Hannah inhales raggedly, unable to enjoy the crispness of the later autumn chill, and snaps, “I don’t know what convinced you that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do, but I want you to know this: Go fuck yourself.”

She walks away. It's like walking barefoot on hot coals. Like a cat o’ nine tails has been taken across her heart. But she walks.

A hand grabs her elbow, gentle in it’s grip. If she wanted, she could rip out of it and keep going. But instead she stills, turning to stone.

“Hannah, my heart, please.”

A small sound of pain manages to pass her lips before she closes her mouth. She clenches her eyes shut as Lucian’s hand draws away, as his warmth and scent surrounds her. She can feel the shift of the air, feel him come around to stand before her.

“Please look at me.”

She opens her eyes against her will, and she can see the way it hurts him to see her do as he asked. Hannah manages to exhale, inhaling just as weakly.

“Why?” She asks, voice uneven. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

“I thought…” Lucian trails, corrects quietly. “I felt there was no way to fix it except through time. I am needed here and you are needed there. Neither of our lives could be put on hold.”

“I’m walking on glass!” She cries. “I have trouble eating and sleeping now, and I’m constantly on the edge of falling apart! It’s like I’m in a major depressive episode all over again! And if _that_ happens while I’m dealing with this, I—!”

Hannah doesn’t realize she’s sobbing until Lucian has gathered her close, wiping away her tears with a steady hand. She tucks in closer, hating herself for the way she _needs_ this. It makes her feel gross. And loved. So loved she could hardly bare it.

Lucian rests his chin atop her head and she _melts_ against him with a soul-deep sigh, tension bleeding out of her body even as her mind screams at her. She doesn’t listen to it, glad to have some part of her not at war for once.

“I cannot come near you,” Lucian explains gently. “Not without hurting you more. I can feel the bond getting weaker already, which means it should fade in a few months. A year, at most.”

It’s a fight to win her voice back, to manage in a throaty whine, “I don’t want to wait that long. I want it gone now. You shouldn’t have done it.”

“I cannot change what has happened. That is the past, loath as either of us are to admit it.” Lucian runs a hand through her hair, soothing and sweet. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be petted. “I can smell the wolves you’re near on you. A Loner and a Pack. They’ll be good for you.”

Something is tugging her away now, back the direction she had come. She can feel it as she knew the blue-eyed wolf was Lucian. And it breaks whatever hold the dream has on her. Reminds her of the biting chill and the heat of him too real to be a true dream.

Hannah pulls back, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“This isn’t a dream. I’m really here in the Black Forest with you.”

His jaw works, regret clear in his gaze. A fine arrow of anger pierces her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shoves him, surprised at her violence but recalling Tabitha had said her aggressions were to be higher and inhibitions lower. It was finally showing now.

“You’re leading me on again!”

He says something in Romanian, quick and pleading. She shakes her head, stepping away from him with a hand held out in warning, biting, “Do not fucking touch me.”

Lucian pulls up short, face twisting up in pain. She glares back the best she can, feeling used and ugly. Tabitha had said a werewolf like Lucian’s kind never left a Mark on accident. That it was a claim for love, soul deep and unbreakable.

It didn’t feel that way right now.

“I don’t want to see you again.” She says harshly. “Unless you are fixing this. And even then,” her breath hitches. “Even then you aren’t allowed to just see me. You have to talk to the Pack I’m with first.”

He tilts his head in consent but doesn’t dare speak.

Good.

“You will _never_ be allowed in my home, Lucian. You have no place in it if you ever come to America. Remember that.”

It's like taking a sledgehammer to a mirror, the way his face shatters into heartbreak. The ache in his gaze nearly drives her to her knees, nearly forces her to take it all back, but she stands resolute.

And wakes up in her bed, gasping for breath, cheeks wet. Her skin is bitten with cold despite the layers of blankets. She shoves them away in her sudden panic, the way the world is tilting on axis as she tries to reorient with the sudden lack of Lucian’s close proximity.

Hannah scrambles from her bed, finding her way to her bathroom to slam the light on. Her skin is pale with cold, cheeks and nose nipped pink by Father Winter’s bone fingertips. She falls to the floor by her shower and turns it on, turning the heat as high as she can stand it before stripping and climbing in.

The hot water and steam seeps into her flesh, down to her bones. The Mark on her shoulder burns at the harsh treatment but she doesn’t step away until it starts to ache with pleasure and she cries. She lathers her hair, massages down to the roots, and rinses it out before putting in conditioner. Hannah scrubs her body until it’s red, being particularly harsh with the teeth etched into her flesh, swearing to do so until time took its toll and removed them.

When she climbs out, head clearer and heart only quietly hurting, she wipes down and goes to find fresh pj’s. She curls under her blankets and looks at the time painted in red on her bedside table, seeing its barely 4:15am. She huffs and flips over, clamping her eyes shut.

But her mind won’t slow down. All she can think about is Lucian. The way he had looked when she had told him he would never be allowed in her home. The way he had felt holding her– warm and real and _there_ , for her, like she’s been wanting. The way he had rested between her legs after they were satiated that final night in Norway, cheek carefully pillowed on a breast and eyes brilliantly blue and damp with sleep and affection. The way his voice soothed as easily as it cajoled. The way he chuckled, low and rusty, and how his smiles always seemed to come with a hint of surprise.

Hannah sniffles, rubs at her burning nose and under her tired eyes. She climbs from bed and wanders to her kitchen, going through the motions of filling her old tea pot and selecting a tea to brew.

She decides on the herbal mix Bailey had given her a few Yules ago, when she had still called it Christmas.

Hannah waits for the water to sing, not whistle for that meant it was too hot, and turns her mind to her books. She could work on Arcadia’s story, of the polar bear princess and her best friend-and-guard Anyase, a polar bear with the ability to shape-change. Or even Bury the Bones, where a circle of teenage girls had to travel across an Earth plunged into endless night to bring back the sun. Her others dealt with too much romantic love to be palatable right then.

Her water begins to sing and she fills her cup. Hannah sets the timer and fetches her laptop, bringing everything into the living room. She settles into her couch, opens her laptop, and ends up deciding to watch a movie instead of writing. She clicks on _Lilo & Stitch _and takes the teabag from her tea when the timer dings on her phone and takes a sip. Mint and lemongrass burst on her tongue with a few other herbs she can’t name right then, and settles in.

Somewhere between Lilo’s kidnapping and Nani beating the everloving shit out of Stitch with a branch Hannah falls asleep, tea gone and blanket drawn over her shoulders. She wakes up when there’s knocking on her door and Tabitha’s cheery, “Hannah, it’s me!”

Hannah reaches for where her phone was on the coffee table and yelps “yikes” when she sees its nearly 10am.

“Oh shit!” She yelps and runs to the door to let Tabitha in.

The teenager is grinning, eyes sparkling as she comes in. “I knew you’d over sleep!”

“I’m so sorry! Lemme go get dressed! Oh christ I’m so sorry you had to wait for me.”

Tabitha just continues to grin. “I told them you’d be over for lunch like we originally planned.”

Hannah, halfway through folding her blanket, turns to glare balefully at Tabitha. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Because I knew you’d have slept _later_.”

Tabitha goes to Hannah’s kitchen. “I’ll make some tea while you change.”

Hannah does just that, pulling on one of her better tank tops and a loose ¾ sleeve over it. She settles on wearing a skirt and leggings with her sneakers, forgoing a jacket after checking the weather. She keeps her hair down, pulling her brush through it a few times to fix any tangles that had formed as she slept.

When she comes back out, searching for her wallet and purse, Tabitha is on the couch. Her expression is curious and sad. Hannah freezes like a deer in headlights.

“What?”

“You dreamed with him.”

Hannah’s hands curls at her sides, defensive and scared. “Why should it matter?”

Tabitha bites her bottom lip. “I think Mama should explain it to you.”

“Why can’t you?”

“It’s not my place.” Tabitha stands, brushes off her bright pink shirt, and looks up at Hannah. “If you’re ready, we can go now?”

Hannah, a pillar of tension, shakes her head. “I said I’d bring cookies. I need to… to.” Her hands shake, curling into fists and easing. Tabitha walks closer, grabbing her hands. She gives an encouraging look.

“Some other time. You’re not in the right headspace to be baking.”

“Baking calms me down.”

“When you go slow, yes.”

She hangs her head, trembling. Tabitha waits, holding Hannah’s hands.

“Remember to unclench your jaw.” Tabitha murmurs. “To lower your shoulders. Release building tension. It helps.”

Hannah does, feels her building headache begin to ease, sighing tiredly. “We can pick up cupcakes on the way?”

Tabitha grins, pulling Hannah into a hug. She nuzzles Hannah’s cheek on instinct, hooks her chin over Hannah’s unMarked shoulder. When the teen pulls back, she says earnestly, “Everyone would love that.”

Hannah smiles wanely. “Let me grab my purse, okay?”


End file.
